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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122617">carelessly to the precipice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinygrunt/pseuds/tinygrunt'>tinygrunt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Akechi Goro gets a dog, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bottom Persona 5 Protagonist, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Niijima Makoto/Okumura Haru, Minor Suzui Shiho/Takamaki Ann, Murder Mystery, Smut, Stalking, Substance Abuse, Suspense, Top Akechi Goro, phantom thieves ensemble, the dog does not get seriously injured</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:29:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinygrunt/pseuds/tinygrunt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Akechi Goro is stuck in a rut. And by “a rut,” he specifically means the Kyoto Prefecture, his new home, and his new self-employment venture. After he is wrongfully ousted from his position as a detective in Tokyo’s Special Investigation Unit, all he can do is hope to redeem himself by solving a cold serial murder case that has eluded national and prefectural investigators for far too long. </p><p>When he makes the acquaintance of a local barista-slash-activist with a checkered past and a vendetta not dissimilar from his own, Goro begins to suspect that a deeper conspiracy could tie the murders—and a former case—together. His personal paranoia aside, Goro has to uncover the truth as his past and the present collide, endangering everyone around him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro &amp; Niijima Makoto, Akechi Goro &amp; Niijima Sae, Akechi Goro &amp; Sakura Futaba, Akechi Goro &amp; Shido Masayoshi, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Goro Big Bang NSFW 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. one</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>and we're live!!! </p><p>first, PLEASE check out <a href="https://twitter.com/jerrybeannn/status/1356080013423104010?s=20"> @jerrybeannn's INCREDIBLE art for this fic</a> (for a scene from chapter 4). i literally have no words for how amazing your art is and how amazing it was to be your partner!!!!! thank you!!!!!</p><p>it's been a long time coming. this fic has been a labor of love and frustration, and i'd like to send an immense thank-you to the GoroBigBang2020 mods and community for being so supportive and for organizing this event! i'd also like to thank my betas and hype beasts avery, yarden, and tasha &lt;3333 i love u people</p><p>i hope everyone enjoys!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The move to Yongen-jaya had been… <em>unprompted</em>, at best.</p><p> </p><p>At worst? Goro went to bed one evening with a successful career, investigating the case of a lifetime, and he woke the next morning unemployed, a few months away from homelessness. It had come as a shock to Goro and to everyone close to him; he was the pillar of the Special Investigation Unit’s inquiry into the rampant government corruption surrounding Shido Masayoshi. Without Goro, there <em>was</em> no investigation. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, he realized much too late that Shido had the SIU in his back pocket. The Director let Goro act on his flight of fancy—as if Shido was someone who could be dealt with above-the-board—until Goro posed a threat to the man’s interests. After the apprehension of Kaneshiro Junya, the Director gave him a warning; Kaneshiro had friends in higher places, and he’d do well not to pry too far. While Kaneshiro himself was a sacrifice that Shido’s motley crew could stomach, when Goro started to close in on the notorious CEO and restaurateur Okumura Kunikazu, Shido’s conspiracy decided that he could no longer be left to his own devices. </p><p> </p><p>So, here he was in Kyoto, his employment record forever tarnished with accusations of falsifying evidence and “years” of “serious disciplinary actions.” </p><p> </p><p>On one hand, Goro had lived in and around Tokyo all his life, so the move was extremely disorienting. On the other, it was ironically lucky in a strange, twisted way, that Goro never really had an extensive support network in Tokyo. He was only leaving behind the city itself and a handful of acquaintances that he never hung around much, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>The main exception? </p><p> </p><p>“Where do you want this, Akechi-kun?”</p><p> </p><p>Sae Niijima, despite her office’s clutter, was surprisingly adept at moving and organizing. Goro poked his head around the doorway to locate her; his new place in Kyoto was a bit bigger than Sae’s own apartment in Tokyo. Except, he had to remind himself, it wasn’t an apartment; it was an actual house. Akechi Goro was a certified homeowner, and wasn’t that a twist? When he was younger, he never thought he’d live past twenty, let alone pay a mortgage. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s the last of my files, so they’ll go in here,” Goro told her, motioning for her to follow him into the small room that would serve as his study. Sae, though typically poised and possessing the grace of an accomplished martial artist, carried the weight of the absurdly heavy box she held in her back. She nearly stumbled when her sneaker snagged on the loose baseboard at the room’s entryway. Goro sidestepped, in case she did fall, but he was thankful for the sake of his organization system that she didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Sae set down the box and moved to cross her arms over her chest, taking in the small room with discerning eyes. “Are you sure you want this room to be your office and not your bedroom?” she asked. “There’s more window space, and with this positioning… the sunrise would be nice to wake up to.”</p><p> </p><p>Goro laughed. “I’m not a big fan of the sunrise when I’m trying to sleep. Besides, you know I’ll be spending much more time here than in my bedroom.”</p><p> </p><p>Sae frowned, but gave a shrug to drop the subject. She knew about his eternally skewed circadian rhythm, and honestly, she was sort of similar. Goro was much more of a night owl; he worked better in the evening, when his energy ran tired and manic, but Sae was the opposite. </p><p> </p><p>Yet they were both workaholics. It was why they made such a good team, back when Goro was still working under the SIU. “At least do something with the walls, then. I can’t believe the realtors didn’t take down these posters. This must have been a kid’s room—maybe a teen girl? Makoto wasn’t like this.”</p><p> </p><p>“They must be tacked on,” Goro hummed. And Makoto <em>was</em> sort of like this; not that her sister would have known. She wasn’t into idols and the like, but she did have a fixation with (and a decent amount of merchandise from) a cartoon from her childhood. Goro had made several teasing comments to her about it, back in the day, despite his sizable Featherman t-shirt collection. “I’ll deal with it eventually.”</p><p> </p><p>She huffed a bit, “don’t be difficult,” and walked forward to try prying at one of them. Sae didn’t seem to have any luck, even with her long nails. They looked just about <em>plastered</em> on. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m really not trying to be,” he said. <em>For once in his life</em>. “We just need to get everything in the house so I can dog-proof it for tomorrow. The posters are honestly the least of my concern.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” she blinked, “I forgot about the dog.”</p><p> </p><p>Goro laughed. The dog. This was really all so ridiculous. “Yes.” </p><p> </p><p>“When are you picking it up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Tomorrow afternoon,” he answered. “After I get the car. I imagine you’ll have left by then.”</p><p> </p><p>She frowned, as if disappointed. Strange, as Sae had always struck him more as a cat person. “Yes… I had planned to head out quite early.”</p><p> </p><p>Again, it was all just absurd. They had been relatively close, as close as Goro could be with another person, yet their conversation was this stilted. The entire journey to Kyoto had been tense, as if she had been tip-toeing around him, afraid to jostle his ego with the subject of his firing. As if Goro hadn’t had his face rubbed in it enough. In equal measures, Goro felt the need to tip-toe around her in regard to the fact that he released a great deal of the SIU’s confidential information upon his termination. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t like her shit of a supervisor would ever let Sae pursue those cases in the first place. However, Goro knew that he disappointed her when he released the article. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll have to send you pictures, then,” Goro tried to give a small smile, despite his discomfort. Sae was his mentor and one of his only friends. He wouldn’t let that man take this from him, as well. </p><p> </p><p>She returned this smile, seeming appreciative. “Then I suppose we should get back to work. You mentioned needing help setting up the kitchen?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, please,” Goro said. “All of the boxes for the kitchen should be there. I’m going to try to use it more, so I want it to be organized, but… well, you know me. If you get started in there, I’ll go and grab the rest of my clothes from the truck. I can put them in my room to sort through later. Then I need to figure out the air-con and get the study set up.” </p><p> </p><p>She just then seemed to realize that she should be sweating her makeup off. “Oh, it is rather warm, isn’t it?” It was. Goro wished that he could ignore the heat like that. “I can look at the units and get a few going while you’re outside. You don’t have wireless yet, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, the wi-fi company is coming in the morning. And that sounds nice, thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>Sae made a bee-line for the ceiling unit in the living room area, and Goro went back out to the truck. They had initially planned to take along the passenger van that Sae and Makoto kept, but eventually Goro realized that he needed more <em>Stuff</em>, and rented a small movers’ hauling truck that Sae somehow effortlessly drove. It had been filled to the brim with the files he stole before he could be fired, his clothes, and his hoarders’ share of clutter. He had little to no furniture of his own, having lived in a furnished apartment, so he’d had to buy lots of important homeowner things like a bed and coffee tables and area rugs and mass-produced paintings of Italy. </p><p> </p><p>Honestly,  if it hadn't been for the importance of this house, as well as his desire to access it, he would’ve rented out one of the barebones studio apartments he saw in the real estate listings. Goro was raised to take up as little space as possible, and he honestly didn’t have much to his name, especially after Shido’s pals kicked his door in, ransacked the place, and got him evicted. But the house had been cheap, as it had been vacant for so long, so he considered it an investment in both his career and his sanity. </p><p> </p><p>Goro was honestly ready to be let alone for a while. He needed a bit of space to lick his wounds and find a new angle. When his article on the SIU’s corruption hit it big, he realized he could survive a career shift, a heel turn to the likes of the Phantom Thieves. He wouldn’t be a hacktivist or anything so ludicrous, but he’d be an aggressive fucking investigative journalist, and with any luck, he’d needle a useless prefectural police branch into getting something done. Or, he’d solve a case for them.</p><p> </p><p>Goro exited his house into the beaming Kyoto sun and quickly ducked into the shade of the awning over his driveway. Sae had magically backed the ungainly truck into the carport, maneuvering past the gate and up the incline with little effort. Goro didn’t know how lesbians were so much better than the general population (read: him) at driving, but the Niijima sisters stayed winning in that respect. </p><p> </p><p>Goro ducked out the front door and through the gate. The side wall of his new house was streaked with graffiti, poorly-scrawled curses and hastily drawn penises. He’d have to repaint soon. </p><p> </p><p>He looked into the trailer, then, and surveyed the remnants of his Tokyo clusterfuck. He didn’t quite know what to grab next. Goro had told Sae he’d grab his clothes, but those, along with the rest of his file boxes, were tucked away behind a few pieces of furniture. Obnoxiously dusty and very much in need of a good polishing, a coffee table loomed between Goro and a swift end to the madness.</p><p> </p><p>It looked quite heavy. He was lucky he did so much bouldering—though, he’d been a bit out of practice for a while. He should still be able to deal with a mere coffee table, right? </p><p> </p><p>Wrong. Goro reached forward, stretching and struggling to pull the table closer to the mouth of the truck. He was shocked and appalled to find that his upper body strength had diminished quite a bit in the month that had passed since he’d resigned from his gym. The more he wrestled with it, the more he hated it, and he vowed to sell it in a garage sale as soon as Sae was far away and unable to judge him. </p><p> </p><p>“Stupid,” he huffed, and decided he’d have to try another way. Goro hoisted himself into the back of the truck, in front of the table, to get better leverage. It really didn’t help that the truck was parked at a slight incline. He placed his hands under the tabletop and started trying to move again, but soon realized that if he tried to move it out by himself, he’d most likely fall or end up pulverized.</p><p> </p><p>However, against his better judgment, he kept going. “Fuck you, fuck you,” he muttered to the table, which was really actually kind of ugly, now that he was inspecting it with a scrutinizing eye. Why did he even need a coffee table? He was absolutely selling it. </p><p> </p><p>“Whoa there, sir; let me—”</p><p> </p><p>When the strange voice sounded from near the opening of the truck, Goro startled, dropping the part of the table he had lifted directly onto the corner of his loafer. It came down hard, barely catching his small toe. He swiveled toward the source of the voice all the while wincing, pulling his foot back, and falling into the wall of the trailer. The person standing at the opening blinked, jaw so slack that his half-spent cigarette nearly dropped to the concrete of Goro’s driveway. “Help?” The man only finished his statement when Goro righted himself and stopped cursing under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>His almost stringy, long, dark brown hair was disheveled with the telltale signs of an early morning, and his dark eyes were both tired and startled all at once. The suit, along with the prefectural police badge he was wearing, tipped Goro off to the idea that this man may be a local officer or detective. Goro hadn’t even seen or heard the man’s car pull up. Was he a neighbor? “I would definitely appreciate that, if you have the time, officer…?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hasegawa,” the officer replied, pulling the cigarette from his mouth with one hand. He snubbed the thing out on the sole of his nice leather work shoes and pocketed its remains. Goro was a bit relieved that he didn’t toss it and litter on his property, but also a bit aghast that he’d just… put a used cigarette in his pocket. “I’m so sorry. And yes, I do. I’m not on duty at the moment; I was actually coming to meet you, anyway.” </p><p> </p><p>Goro blinked, though he really shouldn’t have been surprised by that revelation. The locals coming to warn him off this case was something he’d prepared himself for.</p><p> </p><p>Hasegawa vaulted himself into the trailer and squeezed his way back behind the table. “I’ll help you get it to the edge, and then I’ll serve as ground support in getting it lowered? But yeah, I was, well. You’re Akechi Goro, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Goro nodded, unsure of how to navigate this situation. Now that he wasn’t anyone in the eyes of the police hierarchy, his ordinary citizen manners escaped him. How to address someone you probably would have outranked only a month ago? “That would be me,” he responded, terse and cool.</p><p> </p><p>The officer helped him push, their conversation turning away from Goro’s identity and toward the logistics of moving The Great Ugly Beast. Between the two of them, they got the table down without a problem and moved onto a few other things—the TV stand that Sae said he’d need, the TV itself, small appliances, et cetera. The bigger things, like his fridge and laundry set, would be delivered later that day directly to the house by people with the strength and knowledge to install said machines.</p><p> </p><p>They were halfway into bringing down part of the circular dining table when the officer spoke again. Goro had noticed him staring a bit uneasily at the house for some time, sluggish eyes interested, yet hesitant. He wondered what the man saw when he looked at the scene. “You’re really here for the Ripper, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“‘The Ripper?’ You finally gave into that labeling?” Goro asked, a wry smile on his lips. The media had cycled through a few different names for the serial murderer over the past few years, like the “Backstreet Prowler” as well as other sensationalized titles that sounded more like clickbait than anything else. The “Kyoto Ripper” was one of those tabloid nicknames, borne from the fact that the killer targeted women and near-surgically removed their organs after slitting their throats. It wasn’t necessarily Jack the Ripper’s <em>modus operandi</em>, but it was a bit similar, and the name generated clicks and a mindless buzz of fear for locals and tourists alike. </p><p> </p><p>“You won’t catch anyone saying so publicly or officially, but that’s what most of us out here call him,” Hasegawa shrugged. “Something you <em>will</em> hear in public, and not just from the cops, is some serious shit-talk for buying this place up. Some would say it’s, well, in bad taste.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never claimed to have good taste,” Goro retorted, to Hasegawa’s apparent chagrin. Still, though, the reminder set his nerves off just a bit; Goro wasn’t keen on the man’s prying. He was very well aware that buying this house was one of the tackiest things he’d ever done (and Goro had, unfortunately, done a lot of tacky things in his time). The ex-detective wiped away the sweat that was starting to drip from his hairline; the heat, and his anxiety, were relentless. “And what would you say about it, Officer?”</p><p> </p><p>The man frowned, pondering a bit before giving up with a halfhearted shrug. “I would say that I wouldn’t disagree with them. However, I don’t think someone in our line of work would move into a crime scene without a reason, and I do think that we’re lucky to have you on board if you’re really here to investigate. You have an impressive track record. I would say that I liked your article, and that I think you would bring an interesting perspective to the department. But I think we’re all entitled to a little suspicion."</p><p> </p><p>Goro, completely prepared to be hated by this man, was caught off-guard. “I suppose that’s fair,” was all he could say, because it was. </p><p> </p><p>Goro looked briefly back toward the house—they both did—and he could see Sae loitering near one of the side windows, watching their exchange with thinly veiled suspicion. “I should take my leave, once we get all this sorted,” Hasegawa told him. “I mostly came to introduce myself so that you’d have at least one point of contact in the department. I’m on the Ripper task force under Kaburagi.” </p><p> </p><p>They proceeded with the lifting. Once they and the table were on the concrete, Hasegawa went fishing through his other pocket for… “a business card?”</p><p> </p><p>“Give me a call if you want to talk shop. We’re pretty desperate for leads, and I don’t mind dealing under the table just a bit. We can work something out.”</p><p> </p><p>Goro thought that he was either foolish for the offer or playing a long-con. “But for now, let me help you get this table out so I can head into work, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like a plan, Officer.” </p><p> </p><p>They made quick work of the two other table segments, and Hasegawa went on his way. After she was quite sure he’d left, Sae came out to help him move the furniture inside, and they kept up their quiet companionship until she regretfully informed him that literally none of his air conditioning units were working. </p><p> </p><p>With the sun tracking its way overhead and the trailer’s contents scattered across his driveway, Goro found himself wondering just how much of a respite he’d be granted before the world inevitably came crashing down around him yet again.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The Ripper’s first official victim was found right around the time Goro entered university.</p><p> </p><p>The details on the news were vague and talked of a high-school aged girl who had gone missing in Yongen-jaya—presumably taken from her own home—two months before the discovery of her remains off an isolated trail near Lake Biwa. Okamoto Akane had last been seen in her bedroom the night of Children’s Day, right after having returned from a festival with friends. There was no outside evidence found at the scene, no foreign fingerprints or DNA, no sign of a struggle or of forced entry. There was only an open lower-story window and the girl’s pajamas, cleaved neatly down the middle as if cut from her body and folded on the foot of her bed.  </p><p> </p><p>No one saw a thing. No one heard a thing. The family dog didn’t even stir, and, as Okamoto’s mother stressed—“it’s a small house. The walls are thin. I was wide-awake. There’s no way I couldn’t have heard anything.”</p><p> </p><p>She had seemingly vanished into thin air. The police had written her off as a runaway.</p><p> </p><p>When the girl’s body was found, it was by a jogger on his typical morning route. He’d been running at dawn, and as he turned down a hiking path, he saw a figure leaning strangely against a tree in the sepia stain of sunrise. When he approached the figure after attempting to call out to it, he saw a scene that Goro was sure would haunt him for the rest of his life.</p><p> </p><p>Okamoto was wrapped from the shoulders-down in several large trash bags, her throat slit, deep and clean, her body nearly drained of blood. The bruising on her ankles and around her legs suggested that she had been hung upside-down while she was dying. Across her chest and abdomen was a y-shaped incision, poorly sutured. The autopsy revealed that several of her organs had been removed—liver, heart, intestines. Goro had those first crime scene images committed to his memory. </p><p> </p><p>There were no leads, no ideas. So the corrupt local police did what corrupt local police do; they charged Okamoto’s parents with the murder.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, the charges didn’t stick when the next girl went missing and was found murdered in the exact same fashion. And the next. After three murders in the Kansai region, the Ripper migrated to Chubu for another three, and then Kanto. Tokyo proper didn’t have any kidnappings, as the Ripper seemed to prefer taking from small or sleepy neighborhoods, but Goro did have the chance to peruse the files from areas around Saitama, Tochigi, and Chiba. The Ripper was a very methodical and reliable murderer; he never strayed far from his pattern. His victims were never younger than fifteen or older than twenty-four, and all were generally young and pretty. </p><p> </p><p>Though Goro never consulted on the case in an official capacity, as he had his own investigations to work on, Makoto kept him updated with all of the materials that she received from the investigations. The Phantom Thieves themselves got involved every so often, publishing articles about police arresting and charging civilians baselessly for the Ripper’s crimes, as well as covering up potential victims who had yet to be discovered. Generally, the Ripper only ever dumped three bodies before moving onto a new location, but there were always more kidnappings in the area that fit his profile. </p><p> </p><p>The Thieves had slowed their reporting of the case after a young woman had gone missing in the Yongen area not terribly long ago; they were quite positive that the disappearance was related to the Ripper, but Goro wasn’t completely certain. She was just on the outer age range of his typical victims, and a well-known, professional athlete—not at all one of his typical victims.  She also hadn’t been found since her disappearance several months ago, a bit longer than the Ripper’s usual window from kidnapping to cadaver. And there’s been nothing since. </p><p> </p><p>But, if she was connected, she might have been the first in a new line of Kyoto-related cases. In other words, the Ripper could be back on his home turf. </p><p> </p><p>Goro was willing to take that gamble. Even if the Ripper hadn’t made it back to roost, Yongen-jaya would make a good base of operations for his investigation. This house, specifically. </p><p> </p><p>He heard a small, frustrated woof coming from the next room over, and there was a clatter of nails as his red-and-white jindo and shiba mix made her way into the room with him. Sophie was still getting used to the house, much like himself; he’d only brought her home that morning, though, so he was certain she’d acclimate quickly. She was a beautiful dog, and so very smart, trained to recognize signs of panic attacks, flashbacks, and the like. She could provide deep pressure therapy and even fetch medication. </p><p> </p><p>Sophie loitered in the doorway, just watching him, and Goro wondered if she was silently taking him to task for not having eaten lunch. “Just a bit longer,” he sighed, and leaned against his desk, surveying the boxes upon boxes of files in his tacky little study. His bare corkboard mocked him, but Goro allowed his mind to fill in the blank space with pictures and notes and conspiratorial red lines. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, it all started with Okamoto Akane. The poorly decorated room he was in now was even the one that belonged to the late Okamoto Akane, and after Sae left him, he spent a good amount of time sitting in her old room just <em>thinking</em>. That was, of course, when he wasn’t going to pick up his used car and his psychiatric service dog. </p><p> </p><p>He had his own room to set up still, curtains to put up around all the windows, an air conditioning repair company to call, and a fridge to stock. But no matter how much Sophie poked and prodded with her cold, wet nose, he just couldn’t seem to make any more progress. Okamoto’s bed had supposedly been around the area his desk was, so he cleared it and sat fully on its surface, staring across the room to the door where the Ripper either entered and stole her, or enticed her to leave with him. It was actually a bit unsettling, when he thought about it. He still didn't regret the purchase.</p><p> </p><p>Goro wondered what Okamoto saw. Had she been startled awake by someone standing in her doorway? Did her killer knock, or did he open it on his own? Did he force his way in and gag her as she woke, cut and change her clothes before ripping her from the house? Did he hand her the scissors and tell her what to do, then to follow along? Was she scared? Did she trust him?</p><p> </p><p>Goro was alone in this house now. With Sophie, with its ghosts—alone. He didn’t have anyone or anything in Yongen but himself and his dog and his theories. But he’d been self-reliant since his childhood, and even though he’d let in a select few people as he’d gotten older, it was about time for him to return to his fundamentals. </p><p> </p><p>Sophie wriggled closer, past the barrier of boxes on the floor with a frustrated whine. As she nosed at his leg and brought him back to reality, he thought about how, in his reimagining of the murders, he had been thinking of his own personal demon as the Ripper. While most criminal profiles pegged the Ripper as a man who could be older than fifty, this was not necessarily confirmed, and Goro had no real reason to see Shido’s face when he thought of the perpetrator. Especially when Shido never actually dirtied his own hands, instead sending hired guns to take care of whatever he needed. </p><p> </p><p>Sophie barked up at him, no doubt just as hungry as he was, reminding Goro that he very much needed to purchase dog food. He moved from his perch, then made toward the kitchen where her food bowl sat. He ran through the litany of commands she knew before indulging her with the last heaping baggie of kibble that the breeder sent along with her. Goro checked all the doors three times before grabbing his keys and wallet, ready to fulfill his duties as an Adult.</p><p> </p><p>His first stop was the post office, which was barely four kilometers away and closer to Kyoto proper. He nearly rammed into an absurdly large delivery truck taking its sweet time turning into the parking lot, and he found himself missing the subway something fierce. While there, he got his PO box set up and sent his address to the Niijimas. </p><p> </p><p>He made his way to a Junes grocery, instead of a konbini like he would have in the city. As a homeowner, he could no longer rely on nearly-expired onigiri and sandwiches to get him through the day. There, he bought every sort of produce he could get his hands on. The selection was inevitably of no comparison to the farmers markets he used to see in Tokyo, and most of what he saw would have to be cooked. But he got a good selection of fruit, and Goro was confident that he could at least pull off a stir-fry. </p><p> </p><p>He bought everything—toilet paper, dog food, dog treats, bug spray, light bulbs, so on, and so forth—until his shopping cart was overflowing with bounty. The cashier stared at him as if she hated every cell in his body, but he mostly wondered how he’d get all of this in his car. He’d figure something out.</p><p> </p><p>It was when he was struggling with his haul, shoving all of the bags wherever they would fit, that Sae called him. And he probably should have expected her call sooner; Goro had conveniently ignored her texts from yesterday evening because he didn’t see a particular reason to respond. Sae never had taken well to being left on read when she wanted something, so if Goro didn’t reply when she was actually motivated to deal with him, this is what he’d get.</p><p> </p><p>“Good evening,” he greeted, feigning collectedness while forcing his car’s trunk shut. He got into his front seat, and put her on speakerphone.  “Glad to hear you’re home; was the drive pleasant?”</p><p> </p><p>Sae sighed. “<em>It was fine. Did you get the dog?”</em></p><p> </p><p>Goro nodded before realizing that she couldn’t see and feeling stupid about it. “Yes,” he said, and pulled out of the parking lot. “Her name is Sophie. She’s very smart. I have pictures for you and Makoto.”</p><p> </p><p>Maybe Goro was alone in his home and in Yongen, in this strange new space he’d carved out for himself out of necessity. But he still had a few people in Tokyo who remembered him, even cared for him. </p><p> </p><p>He’d come a long way since his childhood. Goro would figure something out. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>When he finally got around to calling the air conditioning repair company, they were regretful to inform him that they could not fit him into their very busy schedule for another four days. </p><p> </p><p>The lack of air conditioning got to Goro quickly; as a naturally sweaty individual, he couldn’t help but suffer. To seek the most comfort possible, he had been sleeping on the tatami floors of his living room, with pretty much nothing between his sticky skin and the stale, open air. Sophie, bless her, curled up at his back, obviously unhappy about the situation as well. It would have been cute, if she didn’t have a higher body temperature than he did. </p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t getting any work done. There was no way that Goro could focus when his brain was practically broiling inside his skull. It was inconvenient. Everything was dreadful.</p><p> </p><p>His barebones termination package from the SIU had been enough to put the down payment on this place, but it wasn’t That Much; Goro wouldn’t be paid until he figured out how to monetize his vigilante muckraking, and that meant that he couldn’t go out on a limb and buy a motel room for the time being. </p><p> </p><p>So Goro finally, well and truly <em>cracked</em> about five days into his stay in Kyoto. He was tired and unproductive and <em>sweaty</em>, and he really, really did not want to deal with that any longer. </p><p> </p><p>Tokyo had spoiled him. The dawning realization that he was banished to the void that was Yongen-jaya for an indeterminate amount of time crumpled up his very small will to live and kicked it to the curb. He nearly called Makoto in order to well and truly establish this fit of despondency as a mental breakdown, but Sophie steered him in a different direction. She inclined on his chest for a while and permitted him to stroke her between the ears while he ranted on-and-off about the situation he had landed himself in. Why hadn’t he gotten a dog before this mess? </p><p> </p><p>After he had sufficiently calmed down, he gave Sophie a treat, downed the dregs of his last cup of coffee, and threw on a more or less presentable ensemble. He did a quick google search on 24-hour restaurants, hoping for at least a Big Bang Burger. Fate raised him one better, providing him with the address to a nearby coffee shop that was open late. If they had wi-fi to boot, Goro thought he might consider renouncing his atheism.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a far walk at all to Cafe Leblanc, the little shop in question. Goro had taken along with him his attaché case, and in it his laptop, a charger, and paper-copies of every document he so much as suspected he could need (and that would fit), sans the explicit crime scene photos. </p><p> </p><p>The outside of the cafe was rather unassuming; it was a typical wooden two-story, nestled into the back alleys of Yongen-jaya. The only labelling was on an awning over the front door and a chalk message board out front that listed the day’s specials: “coffee + curry” and “honey toast.” A pair of food and water bowls for a small animal rested near the door. There were large windows on the front which allowed Goro to see that the cafe was largely empty, save for the person behind the counter. Perfect.</p><p> </p><p>When he entered, Goro was at first struck by the potent scent of coffee, and then by the appearance of the barista, a lanky young man probably around Goro’s own age. He had a mop of dark black curls, which probably needed a trim—not that Goro could judge him on that front. He wore glasses and a deep green apron, tied to accentuate his slim waist. He leaned, unbothered, against the wooden counter, not even caring to glance over when the bell heralded Goro’s arrival. Perhaps, in these still backstreets, the barista never needed to check to know who was coming through the doors; most of their business most likely came from serving regulars. </p><p> </p><p>Something on the man’s almost blank face made Goro want to do something unprovoked, out of the ordinary—if only to get a reaction. </p><p> </p><p>He was watching the news, which was playing from a small box television mounted adjacent to the bar counter. The stern, late-night broadcast anchors droned on in the background, reporting for the twentieth time on the latest governmental crisis that had probably spawned from Goro’s half-assed journey into Phantom Thievery. </p><p> </p><p>Goro almost made a snide comment about where the Diet could shove its red tape, but the only other person in the room beat him to it.</p><p> </p><p>“Uninformed bureaucracy or fascist regimentation? Who knows,” the barista sighed, as if to himself, then glanced to Goro as if he was an afterthought. His eyes stuck, though, as if Goro was… well, maybe a particularly interesting houseplant. That blank look transformed as the man gave him a not-so-subtle once-over, and Goro graduated from corner fixture to New Customer. </p><p> </p><p>Goro prepared his media darling smile—the one that convinced his entire station that he’d been a teen idol before he hit the books in university. As he haphazardly slapped it over the unconvincing mess that was his face after three days with no air conditioning, the barista’s lips tilted upward into a neatly measured smirk.</p><p> </p><p>“Good evening,” Goro said, and tried to shake off the critical hit he’d just sustained. Goro walked closer, and he couldn’t help but notice that the eyes behind the barista’s wide-rimmed glasses were dark and anything <em>but</em> blank; they simmered with thinly veiled mischief in the low light of the cafe. What, had he taken stock of Goro and found him lacking? Was the barista laughing at him internally? Goro knew he didn’t look <em>that</em> awful. What a total—</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” the man returned, soft and sotto in his greeting. “Welcome to Leblanc.”</p><p><br/>
<em>Fuck</em>.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Goro suddenly forgot all of his social conditioning and practiced composure. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you,” he managed, after floundering for words for a second too long. Pretty face and voice aside, the man was still probably a total jackass. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>To the furtherance of Goro’s confirmation bias, the barista’s smirk only furthered, and he moved closer to Goro’s side of the cafe to greet him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before,” he pointed out the painfully obvious, “please, have a seat wherever you’d like. Can I get you something to drink?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro moved to settle in at one of the high bar stools near the man’s work station. The counter space to his right was cluttered; he saw books and a chessboard and a telephone. Goro carefully set his attaché case to his left.  “Your house blend, please,” Goro answered, much more smoothly, this time. He went on a mad hunt for the barista’s name tag, which, when he found it, was entirely blank. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah—Kurusu,” the man said, as if reading his mind (or maybe just tracking his eyes). He had looked down at his own empty name tag after a slight pause. “My name’s Kurusu Akira. Sorry, Yongen’s so, um, consistent? We rarely get customers outside of our regulars. I forget that this apron even has a name tag on it.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro gave a hum of acceptance and watched as the barista—Kurusu—continued to measure his mettle, or whatever. Maybe Kurusu recognized him. “I’m Akechi,” he felt the need to say, in case Kurusu had heard the gossip. Goro wondered if he fit all those rumors that had plagued him through his week’s errands. “I’ve only just moved here, so there’s a slight chance that I may become one of your regulars. Do you, by any chance, have any wi-fi that I could use?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kurusu gave a small laugh at that. “It’s nice to meet you, Akechi-san, and yes, we do,” he said. “I’m technically not supposed to give out the password, but I’ll make an exception if it means we won’t lose your future patronage.” </p>
<p>  </p>
<p>Ah, but he <em>was</em> a bit cute, if not straddling the line of being irritating. <em>Fuck</em>. “Thank you,” Goro said, trying simultaneously to return his smile and banish his cursed attraction to the netherworld.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s ‘monamona00.’ In English. I can write that down for you. Cream or sugar?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Black is fine,” Goro said, because he had a pathological need to look Cool and he apparently loved having indigestion. Kurusu nodded as he grabbed a pen from his apron pocket and scrawled the password across an errant napkin. Goro pondered a bit more, and added, “would it be possible to get three cups?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kurusu startled at that, looking up from the napkin to fix him with a look that was both fascinated and disturbed. Goro went about unpacking his briefcase as if he didn’t notice, and soon enough, Kurusu just shrugged and slid the note over to him. “Staggered, or all at the same time?” he asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“All at once should work—or, however long it takes to make them, please,” Goro responded. He’d blow through them fairy quickly and then subsist on water for the rest of the night. When he opened up his laptop, he heard the sound of mugs clinking and the low hum of machinery as Kurusu heated the water. Between the slim lines of Kurusu’s figure and police incident reports, one was clearly much more eye-catching; Goro covertly watched as Kurusu then moved to steep the pour-over, and portioned out one cup. He wished he had enough knowledge on coffee making to judge his technique. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll have the other two coming right up,” Kurusu told him, and he placed the mug on a delicate looking tea saucer. He placed it next to Goro on the counter and said, with that maddening smile, “let me know what you think.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro nodded and offered up his thanks yet again, but maintained his composure. Kurusu just waved him off and watched as Goro lifted the cup to his lips and inhaled the scent. It was quite fragrant, and didn’t seem to be scalding, so he went ahead and took a small sip. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Oh.</em> “It’s very good,” Goro said, without thinking, surprise coloring his tone. It was hardly acidic at all, smooth and full-bodied with a deep, rich, almost chocolaty flavor. It tasted almost a bit like honey or caramel, too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Isn’t it,” Kurusu smiled a bit more, eyes like crescent moons, and Goro felt suddenly too anxious to be holding glass. “Arabica beans sourced from the Marcala region of Honduras. They’re grown at a high altitude, fertilized with composted cherries from their own plant, and slow roasted. It’s one of our more expensive blends, but for you, it’s the house.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro flushed; he couldn’t help it. He really could not stand this guy. He had left his house out-of-sorts, not at all expecting to meet someone he found attractive and… what? Be flirted with? Was this flirting or securing clientele? He set down his coffee with a light <em>clink</em>, grateful not to spill anything. “You really didn’t have t—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s honestly no bother,” Kurusu cut him off, “I like being able to peg down a customer’s blend, and I wanted to give you a favorable first experience with us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro sighed. His stomach was in knots. What was this guy playing at? “Well, I must thank you then. It’s one of the best cups of coffee I’ve had in a very long time.” Genuinely. He didn’t think he’d actually <em>need</em> to put any cream or sugar in it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not <em>the</em> best?” Kurusu questions. “I’ll have to try harder then. Can I get you anything to eat?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro thought about it as he input the password to his laptop, booting it up with a mechanical whirr. He needed a new one, when he had the funds, because his felt like it could catch fire at any moment. “What do you have?” Goro reluctantly questioned, as if he hadn’t seen the sign out front. The idea of honey toast made him want to gag; he’d tried enough instagram-oriented confectionary trends when he’d lived close to Shibuya. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well we’re famous for our curry,” Kurusu told him. “It pairs very nicely with the coffee; it’s my boss’s family recipe. “I can also whip up some fried rice or omurice, and we have a variety of baked goods. Today’s dessert is the honey toast.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll try the curry, then,” Goro said. It had been a while since he’d eaten anything remotely close to a family recipe. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Coming right up. Spicy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, thank you. Mild would be wonderful if you have it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro went about picking up the folders he wanted to go through and opening a few relevant documents on his computer. Today he wanted to fact-check his timeline, cross-reference his own records with the public Phantom Thieves database, and peruse a few other missing persons cases in the relevant target areas to ensure he wasn't missing any potential victims. He also had several murders from before the Ripper officially started operating with his current M.O. that he wanted to rule out—some that the Thieves had also brought to light. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time he’d typed Leblanc’s nonsensical wireless code into his computer, Kurusu had returned with his curry. Goro moved the folders he had pulled out, and Kurusu slid his plate over, careful not to intrude upon his cluttered work space. “Thank you, Kurusu-san,” Goro acknowledged. The curry was warm and smelled divine; the half-empty stomach that he’d been ignoring grumbled at the sight of it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No problem,” he returned. “Let me know if you need anything else. I can turn the television down, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro nodded, not trying to leave room for additional conversation. Kurusu went back to making coffee and Goro fixed his attention on the curry. He took a generous bite that sampled almost everything on the plate, and blinked when he tried to parse through the flavors while chewing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His surprise must have shown on his face. Kurusu, the ass, was smirking again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s good,” Goro clarified, before Kurusu could ask and annoy him. “I—there’s a lot going on, but it’s all very harmonious.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s a weirdly convoluted recipe,” Kurusu nodded and measured out another cup of Goro’s new favorite coffee. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you some of the secret ingredients.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why would you tell me, if they’re secret?” Goro asked, looking away from his plate and back up to the barista. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you saying you couldn’t keep a secret?” The man had an arched brow and a vague smirk yet again, flashing the barest hint of teeth, and Goro had to look away. Kurusu slid him his second cup. “That’s a shame.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is it?” Goro asked. He really shouldn’t be playing into this really weirdly charged  interaction, but… “We hardly know each other, Kurusu-san, and Yongen is hardly a safe neighborhood. You should be careful about who you trust.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kurusu leaned against his palm to give the ex-detective his own piercing, scrutinizing look. Again, Goro felt the weight of it; his eyes were unsettlingly intense, sharp as steel, as dark and potent as gunpowder. He was like the damned Mona Lisa; Goro couldn’t figure out his expression. His lips went from frowning to neutral to Whatever He Was Doing With His Teeth in milliseconds. “I suppose that’s true,” Kurusu acquiesced. Talking to him almost felt like a game. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you originally from this area?” Goro asked, to break the tension, or to fish for information. It really didn’t matter at this point.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kurusu shook his head. “My family’s from Hamamatsu. I came to Kyoto for high school, ended up lodging in the Yongen area, and liking it enough to stay. And you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tokyo,” Goro responded. “For most of my life. I lived in the Kichijoji area, but worked right outside of Shibuya.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tokyo, huh? My sister goes to school in Tokyo. Well, sort-of. She went for a week, then switched to online classes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Which school?” Goro asked, because, well, there were many.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Todai,” he responded, and gave what Goro suspected was his most genuine smile yet. “She’s a little genius.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As a Todai Alum, Goro felt compelled to congratulate or commiserate or something between the two. “Oh, that’s amazing. What department?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Computer science and cognitive psychology double-major,” the barista returned. He started working on the third cup, all the while making small, controlled hand gestures to accentuate his soft voice. “Crazy, right? I barely got into Kyoto University, but they were begging for her before she even took her entrance exams.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro blinked. “Kyoto University is one of the top schools in Japan,” he stated, monotone. Was he humblebragging? Or lying? Why was he a barista if he had an education from Kyoto University? Maybe he was still in school—a part-timer. He didn’t look <em>that</em> young, but looks could be deceiving. “And I was in Todai’s criminology department, so I did take a few psychology classes, but I’m afraid your sister and I wouldn’t have too much overlap. I wish I could give some advice, but…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah, you did have a Todai air about you,” Kurusu nodded, as if that was a Thing, which it most certainly was not. “Criminology, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I—yes,” Goro responded. “I needed it for work.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Was it work that brought you from Tokyo to Yongen?” Kurusu changed topics with the grace of a rhinoceros, but Goro, whose drive to work was slipping through his fingers like sand, was both pleased and goaded to oblige him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was a detective,” he said, “but now I’m a writer, of sorts. I suppose you could say I’m chasing a story.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kurusu seemed to mull this over with a sip of his own coffee, and Goro again wondered if Kurusu knew of him. The whole neighborhood seemed to hate him, and the mere fact that he was a detective-turned-writer from Tokyo just <em>had</em> to identify him. He wondered if Kurusu’s roving, intrusive eyes would turn just as spiteful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you’re the one everyone’s so upset about,” the barista deduced as Goro figured he would, an eyebrow arched in… suspicion? Impishness? Goro genuinely could not read this man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro inclined his head, a performative wince tugging at his lips. He hid it with his drink, and finished off the first of his three cups of coffee. “Unfortunately.” Maybe he would get back to work. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro didn’t know what he expected—the caustic eyes of his Junes cashier, the outright vitriol of the post office worker who helped him to establish his mailing address, or the resigned discomfort of Officer Hasegawa. He most certainly didn’t expect for the barista to shrug it all away with yet another amused look. “I expected you to look like the devil incarnate, with the way the elders around here carry on.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro felt a puff of laughter escape through his nose; he had yet again been defeated by Kurusu’s obnoxiously lackadaisical nature. “Yes, well. Satan was a fallen angel, so one can hardly expect him to be grotesquely ugly. Normally I’m much more put together, but my air conditioning is out, so it’s been hard to get on his level.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kurusu actually laughed at that. And unfortunately for Goro, his deep-seated desire to please everyone around him caused him to smile back on reflex. Their eyes met over those shared smiles, and Kurusu handed him the third cup—physically. Kurusu was careful not to hold it above any files or technology, and when Goro reached out to take it, their fingers brushed over the hot porcelain. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro’s smile flickered, stomach tightening yet again, as he sat it down next to its brethren. Kurusu cleared his throat. “So, uh, did you really try to assassinate the prime minister?” he asked, and Goro choked on his own tongue. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I—no! That was definitely a fabrication, and my investigation into Shido and his associates had nothing to do with—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro, He Who Doth Protest Too Much, skittered to a screeching halt when Kurusu, the absolute shit, began to laugh even harder. “I was just kidding,” he waved his hands in a manner that Goro supposed was meant to ease his sudden word vomit. “Mostly. I figured you’d totally be in jail if you did. Screw Shido anyway.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro went rigid, despite Kurusu’s reassurance. He really could not stand this guy. But yeah, fuck Shido. “I—yes.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can’t be an easy rumor to live with, especially when you’re trying to hunt down Kyoto’s pet serial killer and living in a crime scene. Speaking of, I should let you get to work, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah, I suppose I should try to be productive tonight,” Goro said, trying to mask his relief. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kurusu nodded, and leaned against the counter. He looked at Goro for a bit too long, as if thinking about what he wanted to say, before telling him, “if you need a local’s insight, feel free to ask. I was still in high school when it all started. A lot of us knew at least one of the victims. If you’re really here to help, then the younger generation certainly welcomes you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d reverted back to a serious sort-of mask—looked almost a bit <em>troubled</em>. As if to say, <em>I</em> knew one of the victims, and I’m welcoming you on behalf of the younger generation that was robbed of the justice that the older generation held at bay with incompetence and stonewalling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kurusu was giving him whiplash. Goro met his eyes and nodded, a solemn affirmation and the barista went back to work. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro then promptly tried not to watch Kurusu walk away into the small cafe kitchen. He failed, of course, because he was very confused and frustrated, but the effort had to count for something. The man had pushed several of his buttons, but Kurusu was really very pretty and bewildering, and he had so much work to do. Goro was a living, breathing train wreck. He was going to give <em>himself</em> whiplash.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro left that night with half of his work done and a singular phone number—for the investigation, of course. If Kurusu had flashed him that grin and said he’d be “<em>looking forward to speaking more, Detective-san</em>,” Goro wouldn’t acknowledge it. He barely remembered it. If Goro had blushed on his way out the door, no he didn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the same day that both his wi-fi and air-con were fixed, Goro was graciously gifted a beautifully functional website. Back when he had only been a rookie detective, a glorified intern, he’d worked with the cybercrimes division on more than a few cases. It was through one string of particularly annoying hacking cases that Goro met the anonymous “group” that called itself Medjed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Medjed had not been the one behind these hacks, which targeted a few Tokyo-based IT companies. It had been under suspicion for hacking certain government research facilities in the past, however, and was generally regarded by the public as a force for good, as the Phantom Thieves were now. Medjed had only revealed the information that it did back then in order to implicate corrupt members of the Diet for stealing research and funding from a group of underground researchers. Medjed was happy to harass the Diet and enter retirement, but when it came to a few mindless corporate entities? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, it hadn’t been Medjed at all. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And that’s generally the story of how Goro and the real Medjed took down an imposter Medjed—a Tech CEO and otherwise unremarkable Shido Lackey. It hadn’t been too much of an interesting case, save for the connections and leads he’d come across. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Since coming off cybercrimes, he’d been able to look the other way whenever Medjed was brought up. Medjed had long since stopped using that name and clinging to the facade of a faceless “organization”; now, Goro knew them to be one Alibaba. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alibaba was still a criminal, vigilante hacker, and a great one at that, but Alibaba was also... well. Something of an acquaintance. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>alibaba</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:46</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>sitez up</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’d done it for him almost voluntarily. Alibaba had apparently wanted to go after Shido as well, and thus got in contact with him after Goro’s very public meltdown and disgrace. When Goro mentioned that he’d be leaving the city and starting fresh as a freelancer, Alibaba had offered to build him a platform. It would be simple and secure—hard to hack and easy for the public to access. Goro only remembered vague html coding from his preteen days trolling the neopets forums, so he happily accepted their offer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro clamored onto his computer, looking like a complete fool in the process. He hoped Alibaba wasn’t watching him through his webcam, like he knew they could. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’d sent him a link via email to a website entitled “Proof of Justice,” which seemed very professional and upright if you didn’t know that it was a line of Featherman-inspired raygun toys for kids. Goro laughed; it was a very Alibaba thing to do. And Goro liked the name, too; he’d always wanted one of those guns as a kid. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was neat and extraordinarily well-designed; Alibaba really had a calling in web design if they ever gave up the whole hacking thing. The site utilized a predominantly grayscale color palette, with white for most of the background. Alibaba had used deep reds and a shade of goldenrod for accents, and the combinations were really very pleasing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’d worked out the advertisements and donation page already. Alibaba had written in their email how to access the managerial settings for the click advertising and donation page, but that the revenue from both were already set to deposit into his paypal account. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And instead of an empty homepage, he saw his first article proudly emblazoned in the middle—“Tokyo Special Investigation Unit Conceals Crimes of Prime Minister and Associates.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The article itself was a beast he’d barely gotten been able to get published. It was source after source, page after page of all the dirt he’d accumulated on Shido and Okumura and everyone he’d been able to pin down before the Director had given him the boot. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, he’d gotten into a lot of fucking trouble for it; Sae nearly stopped talking to him, Makoto actually had stopped talking to him save for the scant few favors he’d called in, and Haru… well, he’d never known the girl well enough. Makoto was her fucking girlfriend, though, and Okumura’s “suicide” after the release of Goro’s article had left a bad taste in everyones mouths. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That had been his foundational piece, his big hit. He’d make a bit of money on it for a little while longer, as long as he could monetize it on his own, but other articles of excellent quality still had to follow. He already had his first few drafted and ready; two of them had been in the planning stages while he planned his escape from Tokyo. He’d written about the fabricated scandals and exclusions of certain Diet members, such as “No-Good” Yoshida Toranosuke in order to bolster Shido’s party. He’d written about an interview he did with Ohya Ichiko, whose partner had been arrested for a murder she did not commit. He’d also written a cursory summary of the Ripper case, to be paired with an upcoming exposee regarding the police incompetence in Kanto’s mishandling of the Ripper case. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro would be the only staff writer, so he’d have to keep up with constant updates, and everything he did would have to be perfect. His ad revenue and donations probably wouldn’t pick up for quite a while, though he had faith in the clicks that would generate from hosting an article that had been viciously taken down on all other online platforms. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, if he’d learned anything from being the Tokyo PD’s unfortunate media darling, it was that he could work an audience if he tried. Which was why he was also going to attempt to film videos in conjunction with the articles he wrote, to publish on Youtube and get more traffic for the website. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was embarrassingly not what he’d ever wanted for himself, and it was definitely not a stable career plan, but it could work. He’d miss his hectic, ‘round-the-clock office life. He’d miss practically living in the police station. He’d miss camping out in Sae’s office when Makoto kicked him <em>out</em> of the police station. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>me</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:52</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s perfect. I need to play around a bit, but it looks amazing. Are you free to talk?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They probably were. Alibaba was reticent to speak over the phone and made use of a vocal transformer, but they were usually free. Goro often wondered if they were some sort of hikikomori, but always felt too awkward to pry. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>alibaba</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:53</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>uhrgrrgrrgrhrghr ive got a nasty brother and a nasty fox hovering</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:53</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>ill send u general use instructions, totez idiot proof, and srsly i doubt even u could fuck it up worse than i could fix it</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:53</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp; ive got backups of everything so </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alibaba didn’t often reference any sort of home life, so Goro backed off quickly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>me</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:55</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That’s fine, no worries. If we could talk before/while I try posting something, that might help? I’ll be fine to go through the instructions and such, but I’d hate to take up your family time. When are you free?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>alibaba</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:55</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>i can do tmro nite like 8pm or whatev</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:55</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>so long as u dont plan on cutting into the neo featherman ep at 830</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:56</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>unrelated but i know u watch neo. this iznt like “”””extortion”””” or anything but u should watch w me after the call as payment</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>me</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:56</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>What, am I your only option?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>alibaba</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>15:56</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>sorta</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d make this work. He had phone calls to make, anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe taking care of the investigative legwork for the Ripper case hadn’t been such a good idea, after all. He needed to get with Hasegawa on the local files, because Makoto’s were just not cutting it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Case in point:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hello, sir. Is Fujita-san available?” Goro asked, in his most pleasant customer service tone of voice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Speaking,” the man responded, gruff in tone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My name is Akechi Goro, and I’ve been investigating th—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The firm click of someone hanging up the phone interrupted his verbal script for the fourth time that day. Goro found himself wanting to jump into a hole and drag the dirt down on top of him. He was making <em>negative</em> progress; he couldn’t get anyone to talk to him in passing or agree to a formal interview.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve really fucked up with this all, haven’t I?” he asked himself, and checked off another name on his list. “I’m going to crash and burn.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The files Makoto had risked her ass to get him and to help start him off on the case were massively helpful, but aside from the internal investigative strategies and notes, they mostly contained information that he could still access as a matter of public record. He was currently working through the collected contact information of people he could potentially interview in the hopes of discovering something other officers hadn’t yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unfortunately, most of these contacts were family members of the Ripper’s victims. And literally <em>nobody</em> attached to the case wanted to talk to Akechi Goro. Unless Goro managed to stumble upon the literal jackpot of information the Phantom Thieves seemed to frequent, he was a little bit fucked.</p>
<p>  </p>
<p>He just needed to make connections between the cases. These girls and women couldn’t all have been selected at random, could they? There had to have been some sort of monitoring, some sort of stalking, some sort of prior contact. There were so many missing details, so many pins and red strings that still needed to be connected from murderer to murdered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He remembered, as he dialed the next number, that barista’s words from several nights ago.  “<em>If you need a local’s insight, feel free to ask</em>,” Kurusu had said. “<em>A lot of us knew at least one of the victims. If you’re really here to help, then the younger generation certainly welcomes you</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe he needed to start from scratch. Hasegawa, Kurusu, maybe even Alibaba had something to offer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Goro entered in another number, and sighed when it rang. “Hello,” he greeted, when the man answered the phone, “is Yoshizawa-san available?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He already had a few people he could begin with.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading, and i hope you enjoyed at least a little!</p><p>i'm posting the first two chapters for today, and the rest of the fic will update over a bit of time for the sake of engagement and also because not all of it is done; the length ran away from me over the course of the BB! hoping to have the next several chapters out soon! </p><p>thank you all again, and if you want to chat, hit me up <a href="https://twitter.com/tinygrunt"> @tinygrunt</a> on twitter or comment here, and if you liked what you read, please leave a kudos!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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